


In Summer

by electricblueninja



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Ice Cream, M/M, backseat, lookout - Freeform, mostly dongsoo with a brief appearance from the village idiot, my prompts were, so that's what I did
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myungsoo says he wants ice cream. Dongwoo drives him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘Hyung…’

‘Yeah?’

‘I want ice cream…’

There was something about Myungsoo’s voice, and the way the neckline of that soft black t-shirt scooped deep enough to reveal his collarbone, that made Dongwoo unable to do anything but nod wordlessly.

As Myungsoo tried to look cute, he felt this dopey grin spread over his face, and made an unsuccessful effort to control it, but honestly, if Myungsoo told him to jump, he’d probably just ask how high, and did he want him to collect any stars or the moon on the way back down?

‘What flavour?’

‘Not sure yet.’

Myungsoo pursed his lips and hugged his arms around himself, like he was trying to contain his inexplicable sweets craving. ‘I actually thought maybe that one shop, in the mall, but it’s too hot to walk there…Will you drive me, hyung?’

‘You know, you wouldn’t feel the heat so much if you stopped wearing jeans,’ Dongwoo said, but he was already on his feet, looking around the room for his shorts, which, in this weather, left his body as soon as he was inside the dorm. Sometimes he didn’t even bother with underwear, either, but Sunggyu had protested he was setting a bad example, so he was making an effort to be not completely naked.

His shorts were by Myungsoo’s feet, and the younger man leaned down to pick them up and toss them in Dongwoo’s direction.

Dongwoo caught them, but it was a fluke. Myungsoo’s collar fell wide open to expose his chest, so he definitely wasn’t looking at the pants as they flew across the room.

He struggled into them as Myungsoo leant against the door, watching. A lazy smile tilted the corner of his mouth upwards as he said, ‘Thanks, hyung; I appreciate it,’ and Dongwoo was moderately sure he didn’t mean about the driving.

He cleared his throat and walked to the door, passing Myungsoo in such a way as to ensure they had almost full body contact, and Woohyun, standing in the hallway in nothing but a towel for no apparent reason, happened to see the interaction.

From behind Myungsoo, he made a vomit noise.

Dongwoo just ignored him, but Myungsoo, showing his bitchy side (Woohyun brought that out of people, somehow), gave him the finger before sliding his hand into Dongwoo’s palm and pulling him towards the door, stopping only to slip into grey boaters.

Dongwoo’s heart did something stupid as he let Myungsoo lead him out to their car. His car, really, but somehow it felt more like it belonged to the group, and Dongwoo was only the proxy. Mostly because, being the only one with a license, rather than having a car all to himself, the big silver sedan made Dongwoo more like the mother of the group than ever—a mother with five almost adult male children, and a hot young boyfriend who insisted on wearing skintight black jeans in the middle of summer.

Not that he was complaining about _that_. He was fine with them. _They_ were fine on _him_ : a fact confirmed as Myungsoo bent over to shift the dozen odd shoes from where they had accumulated on the floor of the passenger seat.

Dongwoo admired the way they stretched over his ass and struggled to contain his muscular hamstrings.

He was mesmerised, and needed a moment before he regained sufficient motor skills to get his own body into the car.

‘Ice cream,’ he said as he got in, reminding himself why they were there, and Myungsoo turned to give him a brilliant smile.

‘Ice cream,’ he echoed happily, his hand resting casually on Dongwoo’s thigh.

The shopping centre containing Myungsoo's favoured ice cream store was not so very far away--by car, it was only ten minutes.

They arranged on the way there that Myungsoo would go in and do the deed, and Dongwoo would wait outside and kept the motor running. Or rather, Myungsoo said, ‘Let’s go to the lookout,’ and Dongwoo agreed.

It was late in the summer afternoon, but that meant that there was still at least an hour of lazy twilight before total darkness, and the pagoda on the hill ten minutes away was a far better place to eat ice cream than under the fluorescent lights of the ice cream parlour, however air-conditioned it may be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Myungsoo was back in ten minutes, carrying a small black plastic bag and wearing a catlike look of satisfaction.

A short while later, they pulled up in the deserted parking lot on the hillside, and Dongwoo killed the engine.

‘What did you get me?’ he asked, glancing towards the bag on Myungsoo’s lap, and Myungsoo grinned at him.

‘It’s a surprise, hyung. Something we haven’t had in a while.’

Dongwoo was bad at surprises.

He was too curious for surprises, even if it was only the flavour of his ice cream.

Myungsoo knew this, and only left him hanging for a moment, grin widening, before he said: ‘Close your eyes, hyung.’

Dongwoo did as he was told.

‘Now hold out your hands.’

He did this, too.

But the shape and texture of what Myungsoo placed in his outstretched palms was not like the rounded cardboard of a small ice cream tub. It was smooth and long and rounded and plastic and kind of heavy, and it felt a lot like...

He opened his eyes to have his suspicions confirmed:

‘ _Multi-purpose stimulatory personal gel_ ’

‘This…is not ice cream,’ he said slowly, with his usual brilliance, and Myungsoo’s smile widened even further.

‘No, hyung,’ he agreed, widening his large eyes in a parody of innocence. ‘But they haven’t had strawberry in a while.’

This was true: they’d been strawberry-free since the shops stopped stocking it shortly after Myungsoo got back from Japan. It wasn’t a big deal, but they’d somehow kind of gotten into the habit of using it, and though the alternatives were fine, Dongwoo had still been vaguely annoyed by the fact that they no longer had the _choice_ of using the ridiculous option. And he wasn’t sure why, but the saccharine sweet chemical smell kind of put him at ease. Maybe it was because he’d started to associate it with sex with Myungsoo--something he hadn’t had much of that lately, anyway, what with their comeback promotions and Myungsoo’s never-ending string of advertising commitments and Dongwoo’s own tumble in the general direction of variety tv.

It still took far too many minutes of Dongwoo sitting there looking between the lube in his hands and Myungsoo to put one and one together. After a couple of glances, he began to realise that ‘I want ice cream’ and ‘let’s go to the lookout’ were two steps in an elaborate plan that didn’t really have anything to do with the lookout or the ice cream.

His eyes crept back down the long line of Myungsoo’s neck to the sharp lines of his collarbone, but his mind’s eye travelled further, recalling with far too much detail the undulations of muscle under smooth skin, flawless except for the dark purple bruise that Dongwoo had left there this morning.

The memory of Myungsoo’s hard body under his lips sent a jolt, a distant relative of vertigo, through his core and into his stomach.

‘Ah,’ he said.

Myungsoo laughed at him, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

‘Hyung,’ he said, ‘I think we should get into the back of the car.’

Dongwoo swallowed hard, and nodded his agreement. He tossed the lubricant into the backseat and climbed through after it, turning awkwardly to almost land on the seat.

Myungsoo followed, a small tub of ice cream in one hand, and the other on Dongwoo’s shoulder, to keep his balance as he settled over his lap.

‘Strawberry,’ he said as he opened the container. ‘Open your mouth.’

Myungsoo might be a man of few words, Dongwoo thought with amusement, but they were all good ones. He opened his mouth and let Myungsoo slip the heaped spoon of ice cream inside. Closing his lips over the curve of the spoon, he moaned appreciatively as the sweet ice melted over his tongue. Then smirked a little, because Myungsoo was staring, eyes glued to the movements of his mouth, his own lips slightly parted in sympathy, or longing.

He looked like he might start drooling.

Dongwoo opened his mouth again expectantly.

Myungsoo, still staring, made a couple of unsuccessful attempts to dig ice cream out of thin air.

He managed to look away long enough to get another spoonful, but went straight back to watching in fascination. When the spoon left Dongwoo’s lips again, it was totally bereft of sticky pink dessert—Dongwoo made sure of that. He also made sure to lick his lips a little before opening his mouth for a third time, but by then, Myungsoo’s eyes had glassed over.

‘Fuck it,’ he said, turning from the waist to deposit the ice cream tub on the centre console, then turning back and placing his hands on either side of Dongwoo’s neck.

They were cold, and a little sticky.

Dongwoo felt a wave of goosebumps ripple over his skin, but his attention was fully refocused as Myungsoo drew close, their lips a scant inch apart. He looked up, seeking out eye contact, which Myungsoo returned with a hungry look before his eyelashes shuttered closed and his lips pressed against Dongwoo’s own.

It was a soft kiss, to begin with—polite, even; but it escalated quickly, as though the residual strawberry flavour worked some kind of spell. Myungsoo's lips became demanding, and were followed by his tongue.

Dongwoo let him in, enjoying the strange contrast of the heat of Myungsoo’s tongue to the ice cream coolness of his mouth.

He let him push him back into the seat and take over—or at least, he did until the hands on his neck slipped upwards into his hair, tugging gently, at which point one of his own hands slid up the smooth muscle of Myungsoo’s back, and the other cheerfully made its way to the front of Myungsoo’s pants to make its intentions known.

Myungsoo pulled out of the kiss with a little moan of protest that vanished into a growl of frustration as soon as he obligingly tried to deal with his fly button, a hiss sliding out through his teeth.

He popped it after a moment of desperate wrangling—might even have popped it _off_ , because there was a sound of something small and hard hitting vinyl somewhere.

Didn’t matter; the bright blue of his underwear was now visible through the toothed edges of his zipper, and he guided Dongwoo’s hand down to his dick, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his breath quickened.

Dongwoo splayed his fingers around Myungsoo’s cock, then drew them back together, teasing gently, squeezing gently, his eyes trained on Myungsoo’s face, and Myungsoo’s eyes trained on him.

He loved that Myungsoo seemed so hypnotised by his mouth. The way he stared was flattering. It was no wonder, given that Myungsoo knew exactly what he could do with it—but still, the way he looked at his mouth sometimes made Dongwoo feel like a million dollars. Several million. A work of art.

‘How have you been, Myungsoo-yah?’ he asked, curling his fingers around the shaft of Myungsoo’s dick and pulling lightly.

He was rewarded with a desperate, long, wanton moan, and one of Myungsoo’s hands, which had returned to his hair, flexed in a kneading motion.

‘It’s been a while,’ he answered, his deep voice soft, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘I—haah—missed you—’ Myungsoo whispered.

‘Me too, Myungsoo-yah, me too.’


	3. Chapter 3

Dongwoo leaned forward as Myungsoo’s head tipped back, trailing his lips over his exposed throat. He wanted to bite, he wanted to bite him so badly, but he knew all he’d get was a punch in the guts, _after_ , and judging looks from Sunggyu, so with a Herculean effort he practiced self-discipline, and did nothing more aggressive than nibbling. Which was more than enough, anyway—his dongsaeng was thick and hard in his hand by now, and his nipples straining at the thin black cotton of his t-shirt. His hands found their way to Dongwoo’s chest and shoved him back against the seat again.

‘Stop—wait—wait,’ he muttered, reaching around behind himself.

He wriggled on Dongwoo’s lap, reaching into his own back pocket.

Dongwoo, bewildered, laughed and said, ‘Yahh—What are you doing?’, but by the time the words were out of his mouth, Myungsoo had already succeeded in his awkward and mysterious quest.

He gave Dongwoo his Ice Prince look and flicked him lightly in the face, then held up a small foil packet in the other hand, clasped delicately between thumb and forefinger.

‘O…oh,’ said Dongwoo, dumbly, as Myungsoo arched a brow.

‘If you don’t want to, hyung, we don’t have to, I mean…’

‘No, no,’ Dongwoo choked out hastily, ‘No, no, I—’

But he got stuck, looking up at Myungsoo’s perfect face, and lapsed into wide-eyed, open-mouthed silence, just mentally praying that Myungsoo would understand all the things that were flooding through him that he couldn’t say.

Myungsoo, simultaneously his salvation and his jailor, leaned in, smirking.

His lips brushed Dongwoo’s earlobe.

‘Good,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘Because I want you in me.’

Dongwoo whimpered and made a noise of mildly deranged consent. ‘Yes,’ he said, his hands sliding over Myungsoo’s butt cheeks, squeezing, lifting him up, ‘Yes. _Hell_ yes.’

Myungsoo got up onto his knees over Dongwoo’s lap, smiling down at him and dropping a hand between Dongwoo’s thighs, his fingers strong and sure as they slid under the elastic waistband of Dongwoo’s shorts—a stark contrast to his incompetence with his own pants, which, Dongwoo could now see, had definitely lost their button. Apparently, the younger man had recovered some of his composure.

Enough to mock and tease, that was for sure—Dongwoo squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden rush of physical sensations, heaving in as much oxygen as he could, though none of it was going to his brain.

‘Where do you want me, hyung?’

‘Ohh shit,’ he whispered, his voice a higher pitch than he wanted it to be, before rallying to continue: ‘Lie down, Myungsoo.’

‘Not specific enough,’ said Myungsoo, still smirking. ‘You want me to get on the floor? I could blow you? Or…since we have this little guy…’

He held up the condom again, and Dongwoo snatched it from his grasp, the laughter bubbling up and leaving his mouth in a nervous wave. ‘Gonna need that, for sure,’ he asserted, getting a grip, literally, of Myungsoo’s sides and half lifting him, half clumsily tumbling them both over onto the backseat.

Even trapped under him in the most undignified seduction move ever, Myungsoo somehow maintained the upper hand, grinning at him and showing off all his nice white teeth.

‘You gonna put it on you or shall I?’

Dongwoo, who was halfway through pulling his shorts off, lost his balance and fell on Myungsoo, both of them only avoiding injury and dick damage through sheer good fortune.

‘You’re an idiot, hyung,’ Myungsoo said, as though telling him the time of day.

‘N-no, I’ll do it. J-just take your pants off.’

‘Do it yourself, then, you weirdo.’

Myungsoo shook his head with bemusement before catching Dongwoo’s face in his hands and planting a loud kiss on his forehead. ‘You’re still shy about this, aren’t you.’

It wasn’t a question, so Dongwoo got real busy shucking off his underwear, getting out of the way enough for Myungsoo to work free of his ridiculous painted-on jeans. The undignified process was long enough for him to try and get control of his excitement.

It had been a while since they’d started sleeping together— _sleeping together_ sleeping together, that is, not just sharing a room—but as far as actually having sex went, they had to pick their times carefully, and they were few and far between; usually stolen moments in the dead of night, like the first time, when they could confirm, one way or another, that they would not be interrupted. It was one of the major downsides of under the constant supervision of their group members, managers, and the media--and although some of their members almost definitely knew, no one seemed willing to broach the subject yet.

But that, of course, was not the task at hand.

The task at hand was getting rubbery, then strawberry-y, and it was a helluva lot easier than discussing relationship statuses.


End file.
